The Isobel Drabbles
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Non-chronological drabbles from the life of Isobel Crawley.Who knows where the rating will go? Chapter 2: Sneaking Out.
1. Chapter 1

**I might make this into a series of non-chronological oneshots about Isobel's history. Ofcourse it is shameless publicity of my many Isobel Theories. **

**And Happy Birthday to ellie987!**

**Getting on a Train**

"Are you sure I should be doing this?" Isobel asked her father as they headed down the crowded station platform, her small suitcase clutched in his hand, trying to see if they could find her companion, "Are you sure you want to let me?"

The swift- some might say reckless- glance he cast her over his shoulder answered for him; no, he was quite sure she _shouldn't _be doing this, but they were both very well aware that she wanted to very much. She followed him on through the people assembled on the platform.

"Is there anyone who could possibly object?" he asked with an ill-disguised grin as they emerged from the crowd of quite frantic bodies and were able to walk side by side again.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well, there is the small matter of Mother for a start," she reminded him, "And Thomas. So that's two people before we've even left our house! What will you do if Tom takes it into his head to thrash Reginald to within an inch of his life for insulting me?"

Her father winced a little.

He's not insulting you," he pointed out, "Unless you call being made an honest woman an insult. But I imagine I'll have to patch Crawley up a little if your brother gets over-excited," he conceded, "Anyway," he continued on a brighter note, "Can you really see your brother going to the trouble?"

"No, not really," Isobel admitted.

They had come to a halt at the bench on the correct platform and sat down to wait for Isobel's escort. Fiancé, she corrected herself. She smiled at her gloves folded in her lap. After a few moments she became aware of her father's eyes on her.

"Are _you _sure?" he asked her gently, "It's not too late to back out now, you know, if you change your mind."

She fixed him with a very steady gaze.

"Father, I love Reginald."

"I know you do, only I felt it's my duty to check. I know you would never do anything hasty, only I..." he looked at her thoughtfully, unable to quite articulate his intention, "I need to know that you're sure," he finished rather hopelessly.

"I love Reginald very much," she repeated, "Mother refusing to acknowledge our engagement only made me realise that all the more. I promise you won't regret harbouring me- the fugitive that I am."

"Crawley is the best of men," he replied calmly, "And a promising physician. Of all the young scoundrels in the world, he is the only one I would be willing to let elope with you."

She fixed him with an exasperated glance.

"I'm getting on a train," she told him once again, "Just getting on a train with a young man of my acquaintance. The fact that I intend to come back married to him is secondary at the moment."

If she wasn't very much mistaken, she thought she saw something like a tear in her father's eye. He stood up quickly, looking around the platform.

"Speaking of his being a scoundrel, he ought to be here by now," he reminded her, "And I can't see him. Though I dare say that's because I hasn't got his hat on. That boy is far too fond of his own hair."

So am I, Isobel thought vaguely, standing up. Her father was still straining his eyes, looking down the platform.

"There he is!" he cried, "Confounded man. Crawley! Over here!"

He waved his arm to the young man to join them. So much for staying inconspicuous. Isobel beamed at him rather shyly as he approached. Reginald inclined his head to her and shook her father's hand.

"I am sorry I can't accompany you both," he father told them, "But I do fear it's more than my life's worth."

"I understand perfectly, Sir," Reginald told him.

Charmer, Isobel thought rather weakly to herself. She caught Reginald's eye and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Look after her, Crawley."

"I will, Sir."

"You had both better be going," her father told them, "Or the train'll be off without you."

Reginald took Isobel's case from her and lifted it into the train, then took her hand and helped her in too.

…**...**

They got a compartment to themselves. That was what came from bringing an eccentric with you to see you off. Not that she minded in the slightest.

She wasn't usually one for too much affection- at least not in public- but now that she'd been left alone with him, all she wanted to do was touch him. Sitting beside each other, she rested comfortably under with her head under his chin and his arm wrapped around her waist. And it didn't matter; they were going to be married, after all. What did it matter what anybody else thought? His sister and her husband, who lived in London, had agreed to witness the marriage, all the documents were prepared. Isobel was seized by a feeling that was unusual to her; that nothing could go wrong.

Sitting there, watching field upon field roll past them, wrapped in Reginald's rather protective hold, she felt so very happy.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Sneaking Out**

"Just where do you think you're going, young lady?"

Damn! Isobel cursed to herself. She had got as far as getting her hand on the door handle, only to be caught at the last minute. She stared at the wood work for a long second, trying to arrange her features into the picture of innocence before turning around to face her mother.

Advancing on her down the stairs into he front hallway, her mother was watching her very suspiciously; taking in her appearance and manner. Isobel gave what was probably quite a pathetic attempt at a carefree smile.

"Just going to see Father at the surgery," she replied casually.

Her mother's eyebrows raised just a fraction.

"In your best dress?" she wanted to know.

Isobel flushed and drew her coat more tightly around her, trying too late to hide the dark purple fabric from her mother's eagle eye. Goodness Isobel, she thought furiously, you're eighteen years old and you didn't think to put on a coat that completely hides what you're wearing!

"I thought I'd call on Grandmother while I was out," she replied, thinking that to avoid this turning out to look like an untruth, she was now going to have to go and see her mother's troublesome mother now, "You know how she likes to see me smartly turned out."

She got the feeling that her mother didn't believe a word of it anyway, but she didn't quite know if she dared chance her luck and just jump straight out of the front door there and then. In the end, she decided that she didn't: she was still being fixed by that piercing stare.

"You're visiting your father at the surgery rather a lot these days," her mother observed, "One would have scarcely thought he came home at all!"

"There's so little to do at home now that I've left school," Isobel countered levelly, without blinking.

Her mother glowered still more deeply, and Isobel reflected that she ought to have remembered that she did not appreciate her daughter's quick wit when it was directed at her. Isobel looked around at the hall, inspecting it, wondering when she would be allowed to go. However, she was now being surveyed very carefully.

"I know what you're up to, you know," her mother informed her.

"What am I up to?" Isobel enquired, with as much politeness as she could muster, her face straining to remain blank.

A sharp gaze was returned to her.

"Don't think I don't know why you're always at that surgery now," her mother was now pacing back and forth before her, "And you won't get away with it. You must," she drew herself up, presumably to emphasise the importance of what she was about to say, "You must consider how this will look when the time comes for you to marry."

There was a dead pause.

"How what will look?" Isobel asked, not really troubling to keep the impertinence out of her voice now.

"How it will look that you've spent most of the past six months, without a chaperone, I don't doubt, in a small laboratory with a young man,! About whom, I'm sure I don't need to remind you, you have come home- without fail- and talked about, constantly."

Isobel blushed again; she hadn't been _that_ bad! She found that she was reeling from her mother's accusations- as if she'd been up to something improper for the entire six months!

"What makes you think that I'm not going to marry Reginald?" Isobel asked in a mutinously low voice.

At this point, her mother threw her head back and laughed raucously.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Isobel! How can you possibly think that I'd let-..."

It was at this point that she caught the expression on her daughter's face.

"He's asked you to marry him, hasn't he?" she asked in a furious whisper, glancing around checking that the housemaid was not within hearing distance, her eyes wide with something approaching fear, giving Isobel the most irrational urge to laugh.

It wasn't sensible, she knew it, but the audaciously brief nod she gave in response was almost worth it for the reaction it got out of her mother.

"You can't have accepted him," he mother declared, "Can you?"

"I haven't yet," Isobel admitted, "But I think I shall this afternoon."

She was probably lucky that her mother didn't strike her across the cheek. Instead, she stood there as if incapable of movement.

"I forbid it," she finally told her, "You cannot marry Reginald Crawley."

It was Isobel's turn to draw herself up to her full height. She felt her nostrils flaring: usually this irritated her, but now she considered herself lucky that smoke was not issuing from them.

"I love Reginald Crawley," she informed her mother, "I consider myself as good as married to him already, there is nothing in the world that could part me from him. He is a good man, he has a sense of humour, and above all, he loves me very much. Good day, Mother."

And with that, she slammed the door behind her.

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